Last Resort
by CJtheWolf
Summary: Mycroft is tired of his little brother's lack of normal behavior, and hopes to beat it into him. Rating may change as the chapters flow. This may be one of my works that don't end soon :/ Teen! Sherlock and crew
1. Chapter 1

Last Resort: Teen/Scared! Sherlock vs Teen/Bully! Mycroft ft Teen/Protective/BlackBelt! OC

Sherlock Holmes walked home from his school, refusing to ride the school bus with his pompous older brother, Mycroft. Mycroft was the obvious favorite of his parents, because Sherlock had a condition they kept making themselves forget: Sherlock had no filter in his head, and it was hard for him to understand other emotions other than rage, hate, sorrow, and glee from problems and promises he made himself. Mycroft made fun of him, him being a Senior at the highschool, and Sherlock being a Sophomore. Sherlock also had a tendacy to grin at death and to talk about body parts and gore without consideration to another's phobia of blood.

Mycroft exited the school bus, along with his friends. They were going to teach Sherlock a lesson in telling Mycroft off. He had only wanted to help Sherlock, and Mycroft was left feeling angry and finished. Ashamed of having an emotionless brother, so he and his friends had an idea to beat the emotion of fear into his brother, so he could feel something other than rage when things didn't go his way, or glee when Sherlock got to beat the absolute pulp out of a student for setting a stinkbomb in the cheerleader's locker room.

Sherlock had no friends. No one to protect him, no one to stand up for him. Sherlock Holmes worked alone, it was easier. After this, he'd be wishing that he was more considerate towards people.

Mycroft cracked his knuckles as Sherlock came up the hill, smirking at the curly haired boy.

"Hello, brother," Mycroft mused as his goons laughed.

"Screw off, Mycroft. I have Geometry to do," Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft took that as an invitation to beat his little brother to a pulp then and there, but he held back, rubbing his chin. Sherlock stood there, not wanting to go around in fear of getting his new jeans dirty with the fresh mud forming in the neighbor's yard. It had been raining lightly all day, and now it was worsening.

"Sherlock, "started Mycroft, slowly, "Listen. I don't want to hurt you, but this 'I have no friends because im a heartless freak' thing needs to stop," Sherlock stared at his brother's 'confident' face.

Sherlock's mind started racing, wondering why Mycroft would say "I don't want to hurt you". Sherlock's eyes moved to Mycroft's clenched fists. They were tight, meaning he would take measures into his own hands if he had too, which was common. Sherlock looked back at his brother, eyes widening as he deduced the worst he could imagine: Mycroft and his friends were going to hurt him.

Again.

Mycroft sighed, "Stop thinking for once and LISTEN to me!"

Sherlock, out of fear, ran up and punched his brother square in the jaw, earning a loud pop and a yell from Mycroft. Sherlock pulled his hand away and ran, looking back in time to see Mycroft's evil, now crooked smile. Sherlock turned around and dropped his things, bursting into a full on sprint.

Mycroft had forgotten how fast his brother could run. Sherlock was in track, and Mycroft had been so absorbed in his hatred towards the boy that he often ignored his brother's woops of joy when he won the gold and silver medals in the 500 dash and the 300 meter hurdles. However, he knew exactly where Sherlock was headed to: Melody's house on the other side of town.

0o0

Sherlock leapt over trash bins and twisted around the sharp corners, narrowly missing people as they crowded the street. Twice only he stopped for rest, his legs wobbling and his chest filled with sharp pain, his breath ragged and sweat dripping off of his nose. If he had counted, he would've known he had ran the 500 dash three times over, stopping twice, with no water or safety to find. Sherlock was exhausted, and he still had a stretch to go. Sherlock needed the help of his collegue and friend, Melody Treble, to help him with this.

**HAI GUYZ! Okay, I know I promised you a new chapter to The Riot of a Century, but to be honest... I don't think that's going to be finished anytime soon. So instead here's a Sherlock vs Mycroft! Hehehe I know... OOC bad bad, but still. It was fun! Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

He swiftly jogged the last few meters before he utmostly collapsed. Before he blacked out he saw a flaming scarlet mane fall above his head, mouthing words that, to Sherlock, sounded ten kilometers away.

The scarlet hair belonged to his collegue, Molly, whom Sherlock had been looking for. Molly was a few years younger than he was, yet at the time they were the same height, same legnth of hair, same views on dogs: both were comically allergic to the hair. Molly picked up the exhausted boy and brought him inside her flat, letting her father know who he was, why he was there, and he needed help.

0o0

Mycroft now had a pretty bruise on the hinge of his jaw, making it loose. He smirked as his friends helped him stalk Sherlock throughout London, thinking out a plan to get him back. Mycroft, to be honest, could care less about the wellfare of his little brother, for earlier he had hoped his brother would "deduce" that the big burly boys following Mycroft around were only there to make him look cool. Mycroft shook his head. No, Sherlock WOULD have notice that, and stuck around. With a frown, Mycroft started to rethink this whole "beat-up-Sherlock-because-he's-not-empathetic-like-me" thing. Pulling his cap low over his eyes, the young man and his goons walked nonchalauntly towards Molly's home. There was no turning back now...

0o0

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, squinting them before the bright afternoon sun coming through the windows. He looked around as his eyes became used to the light. He was in Molly's bedroom, or so he thought. He secretly hoped it was hers because of all the drawings on the walls and the small chestnut violin in the corner. The door clicked open, and Sherlock whipped his head towards it, imidiatly regretting the swift action, as it brought a sickening feeling in his midsection, making him lay back down in the pillow.

Molly hummed a tune as she set down the glass of water, gently shaking her classmate's shoulder,

"You are very dehydrated, so i brought you water," she said, as Sherlock sat up slowly, "Now, don't drink this all at once, only little sips. Otherwise your body would reject the fluids, thinking there is too much,"

Sherlock nodded, not wanting to correct her by saying he knew what to do. Sherlock brought the glass to his lips and took a short sip, relishing the cool water running down the boy's parched throat. At this point, Sherlock had no idea his throat hurt that badly, and took another, slightly longer sip.

After the water was half gone, Molly placed it on the nightstand beside her bed. As soon as she let go of the glass, a rough and quick pounding rang through the house. Someone was at the door, and they were angry. Sherlock, much against Molly's and his own better judgement, stood up and pulled off his jumper. Sherlock wanted to end this feud, even though he didnt have any clue how to fight, how to dodge, or even why his brother was pursuing him in the first place.

"Sherlock, no! You'll get sick-" started Molly, earning a swift glare and a shine of apology from her friend.

"Molly, I need you to not chastise me like this. I need to fight this. I dont know why my own kin would want to fight me-" Sherlock said, interrupted by faster, angrier raps at the door.

"Let us in, Sherlock! We know you're in there!" Yelled a deep voice, most likely belonging to one of Mycroft's swiftly jogged the last few meters before he utmostly collapsed. Before he blacked out he saw a flaming scarlet mane fall above his head, mouthing words that, to Sherlock, sounded ten kilometers away.

The scarlet hair belonged to his collegue, Molly, whom Sherlock had been looking for. Molly was a few years younger than he was, yet at the time they were the same height, same legnth of hair, same views on dogs: both were comically allergic to the hair. Molly picked up the exhausted boy and brought him inside her flat, letting her father know who he was, why he was there, and he needed help.

0o0

Mycroft now had a pretty bruise on the hinge of his jaw, making it lose. He smirked as his friends helped him stalk Sherlock throughout London, thinking out a plan to get him back. Mycroft, to be honest, could care less about the wellfare of his little brother, for earlier he had hoped his brother would "deduce" that the big burly boys following Mycroft around were only there to make him look cool. Mycroft shook his head. No, Sherlock WOULD have notice that, and stuck around. With a frown, Mycroft started to rethink this whole "beat-up-Sherlock-because-he's-not-empathetic-like-me" thing. Pulling his cap low over his eyes, the young man and his goons walked nonchalauntly towards Molly's home. There was no turning back now...

**yay! Okay, I made a few changes to the first chapter. Instead of it being my OC, Melody, I have changed her into none other than Molly Hooper! So, yeah ;3 thanks for reading and R&R!**


End file.
